


scorched wings

by smudgythoughts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 13, Angst, Djinnverse (Supernatural), Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Mixtape, Old Married Couple, Post-Season/Series 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-12-26 13:51:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12060297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smudgythoughts/pseuds/smudgythoughts
Summary: One second Dean is kneeling over Cas's broken body, and the next he's at a diner, having a date with Cas, who's alive and well and apparently his husband. If this is a dream, Dean doesn't want to leave.





	scorched wings

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for some minor violence (use of a gun)

Wings. There were wings burnt into the ground, unfurled and broken, a poor shadow of their former selves. Dean reached out a hand to softly stroke the heavenly ashes, his fingers only coming into contact with cold dirt. He was crying, chest heaving with silent sobs like a hurricane had ripped through him. He opened his mouth to cry out or _scream_ , he wasn’t sure which –

“Dean, Dean are you with me?”

He blinked, and light flooded his eyes, finally focusing on a grey linoleum table in front of him. A hand softly tapped his shoulder, and he startled, before leaning into the touch as the familiar scent of honey and too much aftershave flooded his senses.

 _Why was he_ – oh right. Dean sighed in relief as his memories of the day came back to him. They were at a diner, one of your stereotypical ones plopped in the middle of desert towns, with stereo systems blaring 50s music, and awfully bright red booths.

Sam had left early that morning with his girlfriend Eileen, either working a case or going on a date (or both, knowing them) and it had been just Dean and Cas.

Dean had taken Cas out to this diner, being a real gentleman and opening the door for Cas, even going as far as letting Cas pick the music on the ride over. And then the one booth had a coffee stain on its cushion, and Dean and Cas had unanimously agreed to sit next to each other, and Cas was a warm line against his side, and his hand was _right there_ , and maybe there was nothing out of the ordinary. Absolutely nothing. Or so Dean tried to tell himself, despite the small nagging pain in his left temple, or the underlying instinct to run, to get out as fast as he could.

“Dean, are you al–”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. “There’s no need to worry so much, babe.” Then his words caught up with his brain, and _wait what_.

Cas, however, acted like nothing was out of the ordinary. “Well, I think I’m entitled to worrying about you, seeing as I'm your husband.”

Dean nodded along with a soft smile, then his heart dropped so fast it was a surprise he didn’t have a heart attack. Dean _sure as hell_ would have remembered kissing Cas, much less marrying him. 

“Um, yeah,” Dean said intelligently.

Cas tilted his head and squinted at Dean in his too-familiar way of his, and there were miles of rough stubble on his chin, and he was wearing a cozy blue sweater instead of his trench coat, and this felt _right_. Inevitable, even. 

Before Dean had a chance to say anything else, two plates appeared in front of them, laden with bacon cheeseburgers and enough curly fries to feed a small army, the waitress giving them a polite smile before walking away.

Cas dug into his with gusto, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, again and again, a streak of ketchup smearing on his cheek. He was a rather messy eater, and going to be up another pant size at that rate, but Dean found that he didn’t really mind. Whatever the opposite of _not-minding even a little bit_ was, he was that. Dean reached out two fingers and wiped the ketchup away, then sucked the fingers into his mouth to lick them clean. Cas was smiling at him, and why did Dean do that, and what the fuck was happening.

Dean shook away that thought, instead deciding to focus on chowing down his burger. A memory suddenly came back to him – of Cas, newly fallen, sitting down at a chair in the Bunker with a cotton blanket thrown over his shoulders. Dean was bringing him a homemade burger, and Cas’s eyes, though tired, lit up in delight.

This time, though, Dean didn’t ask Cas to leave, but to _stay_. Cas’s shoulders had slumped in relief, and his eyes softened, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. He’d given Dean the smallest smile, and an almost inaudible, “thank you.”

Dean blinked, and now he was staring down at an empty plate, a fork held tightly in his grip. He loosened his fingers and it fell to the table with a _clang_. He felt so full and sated. A hand instinctively went to his stomach, and he snuck a hand under his shirt to feel at the soft skin there. He dug a hand farther down and, yep, those were some pudgy, grab-able lovehandles nestled at his hips. Now that he thought about it, his pants fit snugly around his butt, as well as his thighs, though he was already bowlegged to begin with so that wasn't much of a surprise.

Cas pulled Dean's hand away from where he was lightly slapping his belly to watch it jiggle. "As much as I want to drag out over to the bathroom, I don't want to be arrested for public indecency." Cas said. "Again."

Dean shrugged. "It would be worth it."

Cas stayed silent for a moment, licking his lips, eyes running up and down Dean's body as if he was considering it. "No," he finally said. "We'll have plenty of time later."

"Wow, I'm surprised you can resist this ass."

"Believe me, it was a difficult decision. Up there with letting Pompeii be desecrated and deciding what to name Sam's dog."

"Yeah, Gabriel was a good choice."

Dean looked down. Cas’s plate was also scraped clean, and a quick glance told him that Cas had just as much a tummy as he did. Which was strangely arousing. Cas’s hands were reaching for the check, but they looked a little different. There were wrinkles spreading from his palms to his fingers; thin age lines. And there was a _ring_ on his finger – just a simple shiny grey one, the exact kind Dean would pick out for him if there was a situation that warranted it. And yeah, being married like they apparently were was such a situation. It worried him how much this didn't scare him. Normally commitment sent him running for the hills, but with Cas, everything was easy as breathing.

“Could I get the check this time?” Cas asked, turning puppy-eyes on him that could rival Sam’s. “I’ve been earning a decent amount at my new job.”

His job, right. Cas had applied at a nature center nearby, and, with a little bit of slightly-illegal hacking from Sam on his resume, Cas was accepted for the job. He worked there a couple days a week, feeding the animals and cleaning up after them, and making use of his century-old knowledge by answering the questions of visitors. Dean, Sam, and Eileen had once turned up at his job as a surprise, and Cas had looked so friggin' happy as he led them around.

“Yeah, I’m proud of you, babe,” Dean said, the endearment slipping out easily now that he had an excuse to say it. “Though I’m taking the tip. Have to at least pretend to be a provider, uphold my masculinity and all that.”

Cas rolled his eyes affectionately, then said, “Seven dollars.”

“Huh?”

“I did the math. Twenty percent of the overall cost is seven dollars.”

Dean shook his head fondly. “You’ve almost reached Sam-levels of nerd.”

Cas gave him a bitch-face of epic proportions. “Don’t tell yourself short, hun. You and I both know that you’re capable of fifth grade math. Besides, you’re _quite_ the nerd, if our dungeons and dragons campaign on the weekends are anything to go by.”

Oh right. They usually ended up at Jody’s house or the Bunker, the only spaces large enough to fit the lot of them: the two of them, obviously, plus Sam, Eileen, Mary, Jody, Donna, Max, Alicia, and occasionally Alicia’s girlfriend. It was relaxing, almost, to play a game set in a made-up world of dragons and bards and elves for a few hours, instead thinking about the crappy world they were in now. Though over the years, as his family became larger and larger, it had become less crappy. And wow, apparently Dean was now sprouting greeting card messages. Marriage changed a man.

“And you’re quite the DM. Love how you order me around, babe.” Dean grinned impishly.

“Maybe we can make use of that later.”

Cas winked. Or at least attempted to. Dean practically fell over himself laughing.

 

Then didn’t end up doing that, actually. At least not yet.

They were in the Impala, somehow, though Dean didn’t remember walking out of the diner. Dean was in the front seat, with Cas beside him. Dean shook away his confusion because this felt right. He started the car, then pulled out of the diner’s parking lot and started down the road. He didn’t quite know where he was going, but his instinct – the one he’d relied on for years, the one that had kept Sammy safe – was telling him to go west, so he went west.

Cas had a container out on his lap, and was flipping through the tape deck. He stopped on one, a smile overtaking his features. Cas smiling was an uncommon sight, but a nice one. Actually, Dean had seen him smile more in the last few hours than all the years he’d known him.

“Is this okay?” Cas asked, and held up the tape for Dean to see.

Dean’s heart dropped.

It was _the_ mixtape.

The one he’d give Cas in the dead of night, creeping into his room with light footsteps. It had been soon after the Darkness had been released, and Dean had given Cas the tape in a plea to stay. Of course Cas didn’t. But he was here now.

“Yeah,” Dean said, his voice cracking.

He watched as Cas, with practiced hands, slid the tape into the cassette player. It still read ‘ _Dean’s Top 13 Led Zepp Tra xx_ ’, but the words were fainter now, more difficult to see, and the edges of the tape were scratched as if it had been played many times before. But, as far as Dean was aware, Cas hadn’t even listened to the tape once.

A familiar tone played, and Dean let out a full-body sigh as Robert Plant sung, “ _There's a lady who's sure, all that glitters is gold, and she's buying a stairway to heaven_.”

Dean was no longer in his car, but outside, with a small cottage to one side and a shimmering lake to the other. It was night, the moon high in the sky, casting a faint light below.

There was something in his hands. He looked down. The mixtape. It looked newer, though, almost gleaming, probably not more than a year after he’d given it to Cas.

Anger suddenly surged through him. With a force Dean didn’t know he had, Dean threw the mixtape against the ground. A thin crack appeared. But that wasn’t enough. Dean pushed the mixtape into the ground with his shoe, stopping down on it again and again and again.

A beat. Dean fell to the ground, cradling the broken pieces of the mixtape to his chest. He cried until there was nothing left of him, until his voice was hoarse, until the sun beat down heavy against his back.

“Dean, I’m really worried after you.”

He was back in the present, the Impala put into first gear, and one of Cas’s hands on his knee.

Dean moved away from his touch, because if he didn’t, he might do something stupid, like lean over and give Cas a lingering kiss on the cheek. He could imagine it now, the little hitch in Cas’s breath, the faint stubble scraping against his. Dean’s lips trailing up Cas’s neck, laying kisses against his pulse point. Dean’s blush deepened, and he trained his gaze out the window, on the trickling rain outside. He watched Cas out of the corner of his eye.

“Old age, ya know,” Dean said in response to Cas’s earlier question.

Instead of laughing, Cas nodded seriously. “I’m sure I can schedule an appointment with our doctor.”

“Screw off,” Dean grumbled lightheartedly. “I ain’t eighty yet.”

 

They had arrived at their destination: a quaint little log cabin seemingly in the middle of nowhere, with thick woods to either side.

Dean closed his door, then paused, confused about a sight in his rear view mirror. He stepped closer, a hand instinctively going to his face.

He was _old_. The lines of his face were more prominent, and his once sandy hair was bestrew with roots of grey. He even had the beginnings of a rugged beard, and a just there double chin. His eyes, though, were more lively, and he had _laugh lines_. Dean looked to be in his early fifties, which wasn’t actually that old now that he thought about it.

Dean felt a sudden pang of _want_. Dean had never expected to live longer than forty. Hell, when he was a kid, just learning about hunting, even thirty seemed far off. A quick slash to the throat or a bullet through his skull was the way he always thought he was gonna go out. Except here he was. In a world where both him, Cas, and Sam were alive and happy.

Right then, he decided that this wasn't real. Not just some sort of insomnia thing where he hit his head and lost the memories of the last twenty years. But something supernatural, and bad. Because this was too good to be true.

 

They both strangled into the cabin. It wasn’t too large, just a living room area with a stone-brick fireplace to one side, and a kitchen tucked in a corner. There was a door leading to what he guessed was the bathroom, and stairs to the probable bedroom.

Dean had thrown his arm over Cas’s arm earlier, and hadn’t moved it since. It was all too easy for Dean to tilt his head press a light kiss to his cheek. Cas gave him a gummy smile.

Dean had to figure out what was happening here, before he fell in too deep. He forced himself to pull away. Cas’s smile dropped, replaced by confusion, a look that made Dean's heart ache, because it wasn't _his_. Cas and him weren't together, and certainly not married. Though it was beginning more difficult to remember that by the second. “Just starting up a quick fire,” he threw over his shoulder, beginning to pull out firewood and heaping it into the fireplace. It was best to act like everything was okay, and not arise fake-Cas’s suspicion.

“Okay, I’ll make some hot chocolate. Your favorite, with the mini marshmallows.”

“Thanks, babe,” Dean mumbled. He would miss this.

 

Before long, the fire was up and running, and Cas was almost done on the stove. Dean crouched down and stared into the fire. The flames danced across the wood, reaching into the air like hands.

Flames. Flames licking across not a stack of logs, but a body. A body wearing a tan trench coat and striped blue tie, with messy dark hair and eyes closed as if in sleep.

But Cas wasn’t sleeping. No, he had _died_.

A memory floated past him, and he snatched at it as if grabbing a letter from the air.

Cas coming out of the blue light portal, looking tired, but still smiling. Then the tip of an angel blade appearing in his stomach, and Cas falling to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut, a smirking Lucifer stepping out from behind him.

Then Mary was gone, and Lucifer was gone, and _Cas_ was gone, and Dean was falling to his knees, his hands clenching Cas’s trench coat in tight fists.

Dean fell away from the fireplace, landing on his back with a dull _thud_ on the hardwood floor.

Cas quickly placed the steaming mugs on a side table, then kneeled down next to Dean, a steady hand finding home on Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean,” Cas said, the word somehow both stern and tender at the same time. Dean was forced to look in his familiar too-blue eyes. “I want you to answer my next question truthfully, no skirting around the answer like have the tendency to do. Are you okay?”

Dean’s resolute lasted only a few seconds before crumbling. “You’re dead,” he said, sniffling. His nose was running, and he wiped at it with the sleeve of his flannel, to no avail. “We – we built a funeral pyre. You even smelled like burned flesh.” And smoke and tears and regret.

Cas’s breath hitched, and the hand that had been softly caressing Dean’s back froze.

Dean buried his face in the crook of Cas’s sweaty neck. “And maybe we’re soulmates, and maybe we’re in heaven, and maybe one thing in this fucked up world went right, but – but the thing is... _I don’t remember dying_. And I don’t want to die, not just for Sammy, but for _me_.”

Cas continued touching him, a light hand trailing up his arm, but his touch was… softer, almost. More reverent. “Are you real?” Cas asked, his voice a whisper.

Dean snorted a laugh. “Most days I’m not sure. But here, with you, I feel pretty damn real.” Cas didn’t say another for a long minute, so Dean pressed, “Why’re you asking?”

“I thought I was in heaven. I thought you were some manifestation of my dreams, conjured up to make me happy. Because I am dead, Dean. I am. I remember the sharp pain of dying, then the clearness, then just… empty. For what felt like eons. Then you arrived, and all was right once more. But apparently not.”

Dean ignored the second part of that confession. He didn’t want to think about Cas dying. “Do I make you happy? Do you – do you –” _Love me_? The words went unspoken, but Cas seemed to catch his meaning, if the way his eyes softened was anything to go by.

“I love you.”

It didn’t sound like what Dean thought it would. In the quiet moments in the morning, laying in his bed and staring at the ceiling, or taking a small stroll out outside while Sam was stilling sleeping, the world a misty haze, he wondered was the confession would sound like in Cas’s mouth. He thought Cas’s voice might crack, or it would be barely louder than a whisper. But this was better. It was genuine, like Cas had cradled the words to his chest for eons and was just now letting them go.

Dean lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Oh. Ok. I, uh, feel the same way.” Cas smiled. A laugh ripped through Dean. “We’re both a couple of dumbasses, aren’t we? All it took was you dying and me, who knows what, to get us to share our feelings.”

Cas chuckled, then his face went slack. “Wait. I’m dead. Which isn’t much of a surprise, and I’m at peace with it. But you’re here too. So, are you…”

“No,” Dean said quickly. “No. Last I remember, you – you died, and we – we put Kelly’s body on the funeral pyre, then yours.” Dean had cried a flood of tears. Silent ones. But he didn’t say that because, well, Cas already knew. “And then I managed to drag Sam down to a bar, drank a couple shots, and made eyes at the bartender, then… that’s all I remember.”

Cas’s eyes were full of pity. What a fucking sad excuse of a man Dean was without the angel.

“You know how when people get high they swear they’d seen God or some shit?” When Cas only shook his head, Dean huffed out a laugh. “Of course you don’t. Well anyway, maybe I drank enough to transport myself to another plane of existence. Or maybe God has a sense of humor. Nah, scratch that, I know he does.”

“Dean, are you experiencing any pain at the moment?”

He tried to think about it. His mind was a little clouded, but if he focused… _there_. It was a light drumming pain, like he’d just stubbed his toe or gotten a shot. “There’s a pain in my head. Uh, left temple I think.” Just as he spoke, a sharper, more insistent pain flared through him, and he just barely stopped himself from grimacing. “It’s been growing stronger, actually.”

Cas looked sad. Like his dreams had been shattered. “I think this may have been because of supernatural causes, Dean. Most likely a djinn.”

Dean wanted to shove the words right back into Cas’s mouth, to go back to being _babe_ and _hun_ , to go back to Cas being happy and smile-y and alive. He didn’t say any of that, though. He said, “what can I do to get out?” because he knew that was what Cas would want.

Oh, and also Sam. Geez, that was the first time he’d truly thought about Sam while in this fucked up place. They usually were attached at the hip, but that had proved to be unhealthy more than anything else. Still, he couldn’t leave Sam alone. If Dean died here, then he would have Cas, sure, but Sam would have no one.

“You would,” Cas paused to swallow, “you would have to kill yourself. In this world.”

Dean wasn’t really surprised. That didn’t make hearing Cas say it hurt any less. A million things could go wrong, but he had to take that risk. If he didn’t do this, then there was no chance of bringing Cas back to life. “Okay. Alright.”

Dean looked around the cabin and was unsurprised to see a .45 sitting sitting on a nearby shelf. He pulled out the gun, its weight familiar in his hand. He turned back to Cas, who was looking at him with wide eyes. “Would this work?” He held up the gun.

Cas didn’t answer. His mouth was a thin line.

“Cas?” He pressed.

“I know this is selfish, but I don’t – I don’t want you to leave. I remember the Empty, Dean, and it’s… a misery in it’s purest form. You know, after befriending you and Sam, I used to think my time spent in Heaven was lonely. But it wasn’t. Because back then I was connected to angel radio, a constant chatter in my ears. The Empty is so very lonely, Dean.” His eyes were wet with tears.

Dean realized, suddenly, that he had never seen Cas cry. He held in a sniffle of his own, then took a step closer, his hand holding the gun falling to his side, while his other hand went to Cas’s cheek, fingers wiping away the tears with feather-light touches. Cas’s lips parted, and Dean leaned forward and kissed him deep and sincere. Cas let out a low gasp, then melted into his touch, hands coming up to frame Dean’s shoulders.

They kissed like that for a while, easy and undemanding, in a hazy cabin while bits of Dean’s memory blew away like smoke.

Dean pulled back to breathe, resting his forehead against Cas’s. “Think of that,” he whispers. “Think of me.”

He took a step back. Cas’s hand gripped his tight enough there would probably be bruises there in the real world. “And who knows, Cas? Maybe we’ll meet a couple years down the line in Heaven. Last I heard, my friend Ash had been fiddling with the controls. Maybe we'll be able to spend eternity together.”

He didn't tell Cas of his plans to bring him back to life, because he didn't want to get Cas's hopes up.

“That would be nice,” Cas said ever-so-softly. Dean figured he wasn’t meant to hear.

Dean let go of Cas’s hand, settling his own hand on the handle of the gun. He held up the .45 to his temple, pressing right into the throbbing pain. The gun was cool against his feverish skin, and his finger settled carefully on the trigger. His heart felt like it would pound out of his chest. “Cas, leave the room.” It was an order. A desperate one.

“No,” Cas said. “No, I need to be here if anything goes wrong.”

His hand trembled. “Close your eyes, Cas.” Cas shook his head in a stubborn no. “Close your fucking eyes, Cas, _please_.”

Cas’s eyes finally slipped closed. _See you in another life_ , Dean thought, then pulled the trigger. Pain exploded across his head; a bright, searing, pain. That wasn’t the worst of it. Cas had opened his eyes. His face was twisted in a horror, a look Dean didn’t ever want to see on _anyone’s_ face, much less his angel’s. The last thing he heard before everything went black was a scream. Dean didn’t know if it was his or Cas’s.

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of lost steam for finishing this, as the new season has started, so we'll see what happens with this.


End file.
